


Jerkface Love

by boxbubble



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Community: mcfassy, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxbubble/pseuds/boxbubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and James are asshole best friends to each other. Extremely juvenile behavior and being jerks to each other is a beautiful facet of their friendship <s>which leads to sex</s>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerkface Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the pics in DD #18x as seen [here](http://mcfassy.livejournal.com/23932.html) and 3988akasha's request for drunk!sex.
> 
> Originally posted on the McFassy Comm [here](http://mcfassy.livejournal.com/25081.html#cutid1) re-edited version for archive in AO3.

James hates it when Michael does this to him. How he came to be convinced to play hooky from a formal press event to a private boy's night out with Michael is still a mystery even to himself. Or maybe not such a mystery as he remembers the wicked promise held within the toothy smile directed at him. Although it is not so much a "night out" as full blazing daylight. The glorious noonday sun mercilessly shining down on him, the bitch.

In his honest opinion the only thing worse than going into a grocery store with a tuxedo to pick up some vodka and Captain Crunch, is waiting outside one in said tuxedo, alcohol and cereal sitting at his feet and not at all obscured by their clear plastic bags as passing pedestrians give him sidelong glances and a wide berth of space.

Casually James nudges the groceries a little further away from his feet as if to disavow having anything to do with them. Not knowing what to do with his hands James clasps them behind his back, fingers grasping each other in a white knuckled grip. Idly looking around he spots his image in the window glass and grimaces. Somehow he seems even more formal and priggish in his new stance.

Feeling hot and overdressed, James removes his suitcoat in what he hopes to be a nonchalant manner and drapes it over the crook of his left arm. It feels awkward to be the center of attention without some stage or camera to justify it. He's never had much problem with being noticed as he tends to keep a low profile, or at least he used to until Michael came along.

He wishes he had some ball cap to cover his head with (that or a paper bag) and prays to God that nobody recognizes him. It's a tiny ethnic grocers so most of the shoppers tend to be little old russian ladies wearing headscarves. One of the babushkas pushing a small hand cart out the exit sees him and stops abruptly. She looks him up and down, judgmentally raising an eyebrow at his purchases as she peers up into his face. He feels his lips nervously twitch into a parody of a smile of their own accord while his eyes sheepishly dance to the side, pretending that he's fascinated in the sale advertisement for marmalade. The women leaves but not before muttering something about wasted youth and alkash. It's a small blessing that he only understood half of what she said. The half he did get was more than depressing enough.

Feeling equal parts murderous and suicidal he peers around anxiously searching for Michael's car. At least he had vetoed the idea of using a Vespa to go to the grocers, if his self respect gets anymore of a beating he suspects it will end up in a coma. "It'll be a quick trip, two minutes in and out" his ass.

-

Michael peers around the corner trying to stifle his giggles. Completely ignoring the concerned looks from the people around him, he's been standing there for the last ten minutes grinning like a madman as James gets progressively more and more flustered. The sickly half smile that James attempts on the old lady is the final straw and he has to cover his mouth, almost bending in half to keep from laughing like a hyena. This is the perfect payback for all the flack James’ mouth has put him through. Michael knows that beneath all that sweet candy coating of Scottish charm and humor lies a devious chocolatey core of pure evil. This is the first time in a long while that he's had the chance to even the score between them.

Seeing James cross his arms defensively in front of him, he decides it's enough. He'll be kind and put him out of his misery... in another five minutes.

He chuckles to himself. "Fairly squarely," indeed.

-

“You complete shit.” James hisses out as his hands grab Michael by the lapels of his coat. Eyes squeezed to mere slivers and grin psychotically wide, he doesn’t look repentant in the least. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of Michael’s jacket and not caring that he’s making a scene by manhandling the other man, he forcibly removes the keys to Michael’s car. After 20 minutes of being thought of as a degenerate alcoholic by a long procession of grandmothers, patting Michael down in the middle of the street doesn’t even faze him so long as it gets him out of there as fast as humanly possible. Shoving the bags into Michael’s chest he runs across the street and begins power walking toward the parking lot.

If he stays any longer he has a terrible premonition he’ll be seeing his face in a gossip rag. Right underneath a headline recommending rehab for his alleged vodka breakfast habit, either that or facing charges for the manslaughter of his costar. Speaking of Michael, he glares behind him to make sure the other man is following (although part of him just wants to leave the idiot there to rot) and gets another surge of annoyance at how easily the man catches up. Lazy long strides eating up the ground and looking far more elegant than his own jerky, fast paced little hops.

-

The drive back is silent and stilted with James' hands holding a death grip on the wheel after he had refused to give Michael his keys back.

James is still pissed which puts a damper on Michael’s plans for the evening. Most of which involved downing martini’s until they were too smashed to stand, followed by several vigorous rounds of sex. Not to say that James was easy, at least not most of the time. It was just that he was something of a slutty drunk, a fact that Michael had stumbled upon quite by accident much to his endless delight. It was during a particularly rousing game of ‘Withnail and I’ and it didn’t help that James was something of a lightweight. Ever since that discovery most of their “boy’s nights out” degenerated into drinking games, usually at Michael’s behest.

Putting the cereal in the cupboard and the vodka in the icebox he can hear James stomping into his living room. Ducking past the alcove he sees James sitting on the couch, jacket flung over the back of the loveseat. Suddenly flinging himself to the left, he tips over sideways onto the cushions while kicking off his dress shoes with his arms still resolutely crossed at his chest, mouth in an adorably sour pout, Michael feels an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing again. Seeing the steely glint in those clear blue eyes though, he knows he dares not if he wishes to continue living.

Thinking about how upset James is sobers him up quickly though, as he concludes that he better do something if he is ever planning on getting laid again. Michael commits himself to laying out an olive branch.

-

A small voice echoes out from the kitchen doorway, “You want me to make you a sandwich?” His hopeful face falls at James’ incredulous look.

Michael stands half hidden in the corner, fedora set at a rakish angle and hands tucked sheepishly into his pockets. Despite how angry he was just a second ago, James takes a moment to admire the tight stretch of t-shirt across the broad shoulders and the snug fit of jeans on lean hips.

Seeing the contrite smile aimed at his direction and feeling better at the sincerity in Michael’s voice, he decides to let the morning’s incident go. But not before giving Michael a hard time though, he doesn’t want him to get any ideas about getting away with anything.

He pretends to deliberate on it carefully. “Yes.” He finally agrees, “Go make me a sandwich. Ham and swiss, don’t forget the mustard.” James waves his hand lazily in front of him “Oh and turn on the telly.” Michael’s face is gratifyingly relieved and he bustles about to do just that.

James settles himself more comfortably on the couch, arms reaching up and relaxing under his head. He starts whistling softly to himself as he hears Michael race to the kitchen.

-

Bringing along a bottle of Guinness with the sandwich does considerably more to lighten James’ mood and soon they’re both drunk enough to try karaoke despite them not having any karaoke equipment. James concludes that those are just a waste of money and the true essence of karaoke is to simply name a song and dare the other to sing it in as loud a tone as possible. They drink every time the other ‘wins’ with their singing, although they argue over whether actual skill or pure enthusiasm is the best criteria to judge each others songs.

James voice is a kitchen tenor at the best of times, drunk he couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket. His “singing” involved a lot of mumbling and humming something only vaguely resembling the melody followed by loud sporadic bursts of words when he could remember the chorus and sometimes making up lyrics when he couldn’t. (James once confided in Michael that he got through choir practice as a boy by repeatedly mouthing ‘watermelon’ during all the places he couldn’t remember the words for the hymns.)

It is also at this point that James becomes especially grabby. He has both his arms wrapped around Michael’s neck, and hangs on with almost his full weight leaning into him in a futile effort to remain standing while singing. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned, one foot bare and the other with a sock only half on. He finally pounces on top of Michael, clinging to his back and ordering him to give him a piggy back ride around the apartment.

It is at this point that Michael decides it is time to bring out the vodka and grabs James upper thighs to keep him from climbing up onto Michael’s shoulders. Using one hand he pulls James’ arms more securely over his chest and totters into the kitchen.

-

James is pushed onto the kitchen counter, legs dangling off the side while Michael rummages through the refrigerator. Body pleasantly numb James feels himself begin to slide down and off the counter and thinking that he is like a Salvador Dali clock decides to do just that. Michael glances up at him alarmed and hurriedly places one large hand directly over James chest, pinning him against the cabinets behind him before resuming his search in the fridge.

Frowning at his awkward slouch and lack of clockness, James wriggles in the hold. When Michael brings his attention back to him, he cocks one eyebrow, giving him a saucy look before obscenely licking his lips. Michael’s eyes trace the movement of his tongue.

Seeing the bottle of vodka in Michael’s other hand James decides they should both take shots saying, “I’ll take one and you’ll take one, but I have to get blow job while you’re at it.”

-

At Michael’s amused tilt of the head, James clarifies helpfully “Because you owe me.”

Nodding his head Michael reaches out hugging James to his chest. With elbows underneath both his arms and hands linked behind his shoulder blades, Michael picks him up from his slouched position before settling him more securely on the counter.

Looking satisfied Michael drinks the chilled vodka straight from the bottle and holds it in his mouth before pressing his lips to James, letting the liquid flow out between them, tongue following to lightly lick against James teeth.

James grimaces before swallowing, affronted. “Yuck, backwash.”

Michael can’t help it, he cracks up, nearly chocking on the next mouthful of vodka. Attempting to glare, James’ eyes become confused along the way and he ends up with a befuddled expression instead.

Smiling happily, Michael’s other hand reaches up to rub against the front of James pants where a noticeable bulge is growing. James snatches the bottle from the counter and takes a long pull, breaking off with a curse as the burn makes itself known in his throat. Michael contents himself with exploring the shape of him through the fabric of his trousers, rubbing against the zipper and stroking around its dimensions.

He finally unzips the front as James begins restlessly reaching for himself, gently catching the hand and placing it down on the counter again, Michael’s other hand slips inside. He searches for the opening in James’ boxers before feeling the length, fingers slipping up to tease the head. He can feel that the foreskin is pulled away and judging by the wetness, already leaking. It’s hard to get a grip with the constricting cloth around his fist so he can only do small grazing strokes with his fingertips.

James is sweating heavily, face red from the alcohol and arousal. His eyes are glitter-bright when Michael pauses to look at his face.

“Why aren’t we having sex yet?” James asks this with a genuinely puzzled look on his face and Michael lets out a short burst of laughter, resting his head on James’ shoulder as he silently shakes.

“James please shut up, you’re killing my erection.” Michael says as he roughly pulls James’ pants and underwear off his legs. Momentarily confused about where to put them and not wanting to throw them on the floor, he opens a nearby drawer and lays them over the top.

Fisting the waiting erection, Michael takes another swallow of vodka before closing his mouth around the head. James jerks and does a jittery dance as he tries to move his hips before realizing he can’t, restrained as he is between Michael’s hands and the counter beneath him. He lets the vodka tease the sensitive skin of the head, flicking his tongue over the frenulum before swallowing the alcohol and pulling off. He lets the alcohol evaporate off the exposed crown as he squeezes his hand tightly around the base, slowly moving his fist up and down. The skin alternately pulls tight and bunches at the tip with each pass of his hand.

James’ eyes are focused intently on the snug clasp around his length and his breathing is so fast and loud his chest seems to rise before it even has a chance to fall. It reminds Michael of a rabbit he once held, small chest pounding so quickly his fingers are barely able to register each individual heartbeat as its own separate thump. For a moment he’s worried that James will pass out but his eyes raise away from Michael’s fist engulfing his cock and locks onto his face. He uses both hands to grab the back of Michael’s neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs as he pulls their heads forcefully together. They kiss roughly, mouths open and uncoordinated.

Michael finds himself on the defensive as James tongue roams with abandon around the inside of his mouth, seemingly intent to touch and count each and every tooth. Feeling light headed from arousal and more than a little drunk himself, Michael blindly begins to unbuckle his belt. His fingers fumbling at the catch before pushing down his own pants, underwear included. His penis bobs free, sensitized to the cooler air of the kitchen.

He reaches around fingers trailing along James crease towards the small pucker there. Stopping he pulls back and contemplates James dazed expression. He briefly considers using Crisco before deciding against it as he thinks about what James’ reaction will be the next morning. Regretfully he disentangles himself from the arms encircling him, fingers stroking along his flank and sides as he moves away.

He dashes towards the living room, pitching onto the counter and almost slamming his face into the ground as he realizes he hasn’t removed his pants from where they’ve pooled around his ankles. Hearing James giggles behind him he hurriedly skip/shuffles his way out stepping on his pants and trying to pull them off at the same time. Vowing to get James back later he goes looking for the lube.

-

James relaxes on the counter. He reaches for the bottle of vodka, carefully capping it and placing it in one of the cabinets behind him for safekeeping. No sense in wasting good vodka after all.

He leans back and starts leisurely stroking himself with one hand while waiting for Michael to come back. No use wasting a good erection either he thinks, as he feels a grin spread across his face.

-

Michael gets back just in time to see James having a go at himself. He halts, lube and condoms in hand (He had grabbed the whole box feeling a complicated combination of optimism and daring) and meditates on the spectacle in front of him. He takes his time with himself, Michael thinks at the gentle hold James has on his own penis. He stares transfixed as a bead of precum forms, beading at the tip before sliding inexorably down over those loosely curved fingers. In contrast James’ other hand is busy circling one nipple, pinching it hard, nails digging into the small nub of flesh, before soothing it with a pliable roll of his fingers.

James acknowledges him with a hot flash of eyes thrown his way as Michael walks up and unfolds the slack fist stroking himself, settling the lube into James open palm. Leaning in to the shell of his ear, he whispers “I want to watch.”

James shudders and generously coats his fingers in the slick substance. Shifting forward he slowly forces in one finger, moving it in and out of himself several times before adding another. The third finger he adds much quicker, scissoring and delving deeper, trying to reach his prostate this time. At the sight of James moaning into one hand while the other slips across his flesh, sinking inside himself, Michael loses it.

He frantically rolls on the condom and pushes the hand away. Pressing James further up the counter, Michael lines himself up. He tries to enter slowly but probably ends up going too fast anyway. James doesn’t seem to mind though, fingers raking down his back, no doubt leaving an impressive set of scratch marks, and legs wound tightly around his waist. Still standing, nuzzling the open collar of James’ shirt to bite softly at the throat there, he proceeds to fuck the sexy little deviant straight into the cupboards.

-

Having sex on the kitchen counter is a lot less fun in practice than it is in theory, but James never lets reality intrude into a perfectly kinky experience. The cabinets dig into his shoulders and he braces an arm along the edge to keep his head from pounding into the wood with every thrust from Michael.

Frankly it’s all a little distracting. If it weren’t for the glorious grip of Michael’s hand on his dick, rapid little pulls just at the head and the deep satisfying twitch he feels each time Michael hits his prostate (and with this angle it is often) he might’ve actually considered complaining. As it is he just groans louder, his other arm wrapped around Michael’s head, fingers clenched tightly in his hair.

He knows he is pulling Michael’s head too hard, knows he’ll probably have a oddly shaped horizontal bruise across his back tomorrow and that his ass is going to be too sore to sit down for some time to come, but he can’t seem to find it in himself to care. He gives the locks in his grasp another firm yank for good measure and runs his mouth along Michael’s eyebrows, licking at the sweat forming at the temples. Michael grunts at the sensation before thrusting even harder, driving the breath from his lungs with each forceful impact.

James comes, gasping for breath, no energy left to even make a sound.

-

Feeling the hot splash of semen on his stomach and slipping over his fingers, Michael releases his hand from around James cock and grabs his hip instead. With a better grip and more control Michael pistons even harder into him. His hands are practically holding James up now and he can feel the burning strain in his thighs and forearms. He’s moving James whole body over his as he drives into him. The end isn’t long in coming and he stutters, moaning softly as he feels his release.

-

They’ve rested sticky and sated. James is still sitting on the counter while Michael makes himself comfortable on the floor. They lazily trade sips of vodka and orange juice, eating slices of deli meat straight from the packaging and devouring a large stack of buttered toast. Having sex in the kitchen is convenient that way.

Peering up he sees James stuff a whole slice of bologna into his mouth. He can see the shadow of bruises forming on his pale skin. Long finger marks on his thighs and hips where he had been held up, small blooms across his chest and collar where Michael nipped him and even around his nipple where he had pinched himself. Noticing the attention James stares back at him, considering for a minute before quirking an eyebrow at him.

Smiling challengingly, Michael channels every inch of reckless abandon he can muster into his features and whispers, “Let’s do it again.”

-

Cheekily James props himself up with one hand and says “It’s my turn to top isn’t it though? You’ve gone and done the last three rounds. If you include this one that makes four.” He pauses and pulls his feet completely up onto the counter, stretching himself fully on it. Resting his head on one arm, he continues. “Not that I’ve been counting.” Michael fondly coughs “Bullshit” at this. James always keeps score. Ignoring the crass interruption he continues “Look don’t you think it’d only be fair to my arse,” At this he slaps his own left cheek for emphasis before grinning wildly down at him “if we did it the other way around this time?” Playing the role to the hilt, he gives an exaggerated wink and offers his most persuasive smile. The same one that had convinced Michael that yes, it would be a great idea to grab the director’s carts and race around the lot between sets.

Looking up blankly at the ceiling and thinking it through, Michael mentally shrugs at the proposition and slowly nods his head. “We can’t do it if you’re on the counter though.” He supplies constructively when James doesn’t seem inclined to move.

“The floor it is then.” James exclaims happily, peeling off his shirt before throwing it down onto the tiles and hopping off to follow suit. “I hope you don’t mind bottoming from the top though, my hips are completely wrecked.”

-

Waking alone on the bed, wondering how he got there and nursing a truly horrendous hangover, James stumbles out into the hallway. Looking and failing to find his clothes, he finally sees his pants stuffed half way in the cutlery drawer. Pulling them out he tries to smooth the wrinkles while studiously ignoring the suspicious stains at the fly of his trousers. Walking towards the dining room he trips over his shirt and he wonders if he dares bring them to the cleaners or if he should just give it up for lost.

Micheal sits at the dining room table naked except for another one of his hats, a derby this time. He is hunched over a bowl with the open box of Captain Crunch James had bought the day before. A folded towel acts as a cushion on the stool he is sitting on.

At hearing James’ entrance he looks up grinning, “We forgot to buy milk for the cereal so I mixed some hot chocolate powder with water instead.” Saying this he gleefully holds up his spoon to James, one hand cupped underneath to catch any drippings.

Inspecting the concoction James thinks that this must be love before moving in for a taste.


End file.
